Bloody Hell
by Chloe Winchester
Summary: What if Red John hadn't simply left Patrick there? What if he had done something much worse? Hurt!Patrick. Tag to 2x23 NO SLASH
1. Chapter 1

-- **NO SLASH!** No Jisbon/Jello. None. Whatsoever. Just best pals :D Thank you!--

**Bloody Hell**

**1**

"Stop, stop, PLEASE!" He screamed, writhing and jerking away but gaining nothing. His wrists and ankles were bleeding from struggling so much. The knife came down on him again, tearing his skin, sending burning anguish throughout his body. "GAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" He shook his head, wishing the tears away.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" His face was unbelievably close to his, mocking him, laughing at him. Patrick coughed, blood on his lips, watching the bloody instrument carefully as it danced back and forth in front of his eyes.

"No, no, please!" He begged.

"It doesn't?" Red John chuckled. "Well maybe this will."

"_AGGGGGHHHHHH!_" He shrieked, crying. "No more, NO MORE, PLEASE! Oh god, please…"

"I thought you didn't believe in God." That mocking voice. He tried desperately to get away from that horrible instrument. But it followed him. The table underneath him was soaked in blood, and it was only getting worse as time went on.

"You knew this was going to happen," he said calmly. "How could I pass up the opportunity to hurt you like this? So vulnerable…"

It carved into his chest again. "God no! God, please…no more…" The saran wrap around his wrists rubbed his raw skin, the sting so terrible…

"Alright, alright," he set the blade down on the counter beside him. It and the other instruments that lay there. "This is the last way you wanted to be in front of me, wasn't it? Vulnerable, weak…" Patrick could hear the smirk in his voice. "Exposed."

He was exposed. He was naked.

"You want me to end you, don't you? You want me to take your life?" He picked up another device. Patrick's tormented eyes grew.

"P-please…" He whimpered.

"I won't do it, you know. I won't kill you. That's what you want, isn't it? You want to be with them again, is that what you want? You want to end your horrible suffering." He brought his mouth next to Patrick's ear, hidden behind that terrible mask. "But I want you to suffer. Living for you is more terrible than death. So I will let you live."

The device he held touched his unharmed skin. The electrical zapping filled the room, making him scream and cringe and cry. He screamed his wife's name, making Red John laugh even more.

"You think she can hear your pitiful screaming?" He laughed. "Funny, she didn't scream as much as you when I gutted her."

Patrick sobbed, shutting his eyes. The instrument touched him again, burning him, sending the fire through his entire body.

"_OH GOD, PLEASE, PLEASE NO! DON'T HURT ME, PLEASE!_"

"Then again, I didn't take nearly as long with her as I have with you."

Hours of it. Of torture of agony of suffering. He was whipped and burned and beaten. In the end he was tied back on the table, left to cry and tremble.

He'd taken him from that chair to what he assumed was a warehouse. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know if his friends would find him or not. But he did know he was scared. And cold.

It was so cold. That's why he was shaking so hard. He'd lost the blood that kept him warm. But he wouldn't die. No matter what he would not die. Red John made sure of that.

"Help," he choked. "Please… Someone help me…"

He laid there for hours, shaking, crying, choking, praying. He was lost in a haze, soaked in sweat, blood and tears. So cold…

A door opened and he didn't even notice. He barely heard the scream of: "HE'S HERE!" from a few feet away. He wasn't aware that anyone was there until Lisbon touched his cheek.

"Patrick? Patrick, look at me." His bright, bloodshot and weary eyes met hers. "Hey," she smiled falsely, "hey it's alright. We're gonna get you out of here, okay?"

"Lisbon?" He sobbed harder when she nodded. "Lisbon, help me..."

"Shh, hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay, shh…Shh…" She turned, looking at the agents who had jogged to them. "Cho, get me a-" Cho held out his hand, a blanket already in it. "Thank you." She hurriedly covered Patrick up, giving him some dignity.

"Shh, shh…" She soothed, gently brushing curls off his forehead.

"Lisbon, get it o-off. Please g-get it off." He flexed his wrists weakly, shutting his eyes. She looked down at the thick straps of saran.

"Oh, god, honey." She gasped. "Someone get me a knife, something to cut this with!" Once again, Cho came to the rescue.

He seemed to be on call, ready to run and do whatever Lisbon needed him to because he needed to help. Van Pelt stood there, unable to move, her hand over her mouth. Rigsby had his arm around her shoulders, shifting his feet, looking from Patrick to the door behind them and back again, unsure of what he should be doing.

Lisbon cut Patrick's wrists and ankles loose, gently lowering them so he didn't hurt him. The skin was raw, blistered and bleeding. He'd fought so hard…

"It's alright, Patrick. It's alright. Shh…" He held onto her arm, his eyes pleading with her. "Come here." She pulled him into a hug, the blanket around him.

"Teresa, p-please. It hurts. It h-hurts so m-much. He-he hurt me," he whimpered.

"Red John?" She whispered. He buried his face in her neck, hiding almost. "Okay, okay, it's okay. Shh… We're gonna take you to the hospital, okay?" He shook his head.

"N-no, please. I h-hate hospitals." Lisbon smiled a little. Finally some normalcy.

"I know you do, I know. We just need to make sure you're okay, alright? I'll get you home as soon as I can, okay? I promise." She whispered.

He whimpered and cried in her arms as they waited for the ambulance. Lisbon held him close, wondering how someone that seemed so strong could feel so fragile right now.

"Just a little longer. Just a little longer, Patrick, okay?" She kissed his temple. He trembled against her. "Shh, it's alright. It's alright. Shh…"

The ambulance showed, finally. Patrick whimpered and fought feebly when the unfamiliar hands touched him. Lisbon refused to let go of his hand and chastised many a paramedic for scaring him or hurting him.

He never took his eyes off of her. He couldn't. He'd remember that dark and cold place, that pain, that fear, that masked face. He had to look at her to keep himself from going insane. He didn't stop crying. Even when they got to the hospital he didn't. He couldn't.

"Shh, hush, hush, it's alright now. He can't hurt you anymore."

He shut his eyes, eyes holding so much agony and torment and terrible pain. Eyes that understood what she had said was a lie.

Tbc…

--Patrick TLC next chap!--


	2. Chapter 2

**Bloody Hell**

**2**

"I'm not staying out here!" Lisbon barked. "I'm going in there with him!"

"Teresa! Teresa, don't go! Please!" Patrick cried, writhing weakly under the doctors' grips as they wheeled him away on the gurney.

"I'm sorry, ma'am but we can't allow you in there," the nurse said blandly, like she didn't even care.

"Like hell I can't!" She bellowed, moving to step around her but was blocked by the nurse.

"No, no, Teresa, please help!" She looked over the nurse's shoulder, right into Patrick's tear-filled eyes.

"I'll be right there, Patrick, it's okay." She assured, smiling gently. Her face was hard when she looked back at the nurse. She shoved her badge in the woman's face.

"You let me in there right now or I swear to God I will have this place crawling with CDC faster than you can grab a mop," she growled. The woman glanced up at her from her clipboard.

"You go right ahead and do that ma'am, but right now we need to take care of Mr. Jane." And she walked away.

"Teresa, plehease!" God, he looked so scared.

"It's okay, Patrick. It's alright. Everything's gonna be alright," She assured, wanting to barge through the throng of doctors to get to him, but it would only result in a call from security and more not needed chaos around Patrick.

He was still whimpering, crying and squirming when the doors closed behind them.

She collapsed in a chair, hitting the side table next to it with her fist. "DAMN IT!"

"He'll be okay, Boss," Rigsby said. Lisbon shook her head.

"He didn't say your name like that. He didn't beg for you to help him. You didn't just stand there and do nothing while they took him away," she said quietly.

No one said anything for a long time. Not until a doctor came out, looking grim and anxious.

"Patrick Jane?" He said. Lisbon and the others stood.

"Is everything okay? Is he alright?" Van Pelt asked, surprising them.

"There's something you all need to see," he said before turning down a hall toward the rooms.

Patrick was lying on his stomach, apparently sleeping. He didn't look peaceful. His eyes were closed, yes, but his face was screwed up in discomfort. He whimpered a little, soft, quiet, a noise the doctor didn't hear.

"Did he pass out?" Lisbon asked.

"No, we had to sedate him. Lisbon shut her eyes, trying not to imagine Patrick screaming and crying, so scared as they stuck that needle in his arm or his neck.

"Why the hell would you do that?" Cho demanded, voice raised, missing every ounce of its usual calm. The doctor was taken aback by the outburst.

"He was hysterical. He, he was fighting us and screaming bloody murder. We had-" Cho stepped closer to the man, right in his face, murderously angry.

"And do you not understand what's happened to him? Do you understand that if you stupid son of a bitches would've let her go with him that none of that would've happened?"

"Cho," Van Pelt put her hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

"What did you need to show us?" Rigsby asked anxiously. The doctor nodded, stepping away from Cho and going to Patrick. He pulled down the blanket, revealing Patrick's back. Van Pelt turned away, her hand over her mouth. Rigsby backed up, horrified. Cho ran his hand over his face, despaired.

Lisbon could only stare as tears welled in her eyes. A smiley face looked back at her. It had been whipped into his skin. It had been treated, but not yet covered.

"Oh my God," she breathed.

"That's why there was no face at the scene," Rigsby said quietly. Patrick whimpered, trembling at the sudden chill around him. Lisbon went to him, pulling up the chair that was next to the bed.

"Shh, Patrick, wake up. It's alright. It's okay, it's okay, shh…" She breathed, gently stroking his cheek. The doctor set to dressing the horrible face as Patrick cringed and whimpered, wondering what was causing him pain.

"It's the doctor, it's okay," Lisbon assured. He drew his arms underneath him, trembling.

"It's c-cold, L-Lisbon," he choked. Lisbon looked up at the doctor, who moved away nodding. She pulled the blankets over his shoulders, covering him up. He continued to shake, tears seeping down his cheeks and into the pillow.

"Shh, it's okay. It's alright. Don't cry, shh…" She soothed, wiping the tears from his face.

"I w-want to go h-home," he pleaded. "P-please. I w-wanna go-go home."

"You will. You will soon, it's alright." She wanted to hold him, to keep him close and make sure that no one was going to hurt him. But she couldn't when he was laying like this and with so many chords and monitors hooked up to him. "Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. I'm sorry I left you. I didn't want to. I'm sorry if you were scared but-"

"Wh-why did they hurt me? Di-did I do something wrong?" He whimpered. Cho looked over at the doctor, his eyes daggers.

"No," Lisbon assured, shaking her head. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, okay? They were trying to help you."

"I d-don't wanna be h-here, T-Teresa…Please!" He was broken. God, he was so broken. She could see how deeply he was shattered by looking in his eyes. Those pools of blue that usually held light and mischief now held sadness, agony and a vulnerability that hurt her heart to exploit: innocence.

She winced at the sudden jab and stroked his hair back.

"When can he leave?" she asked, looking at the doctor again.

"Um, at minimum over night, for observation."

"I'll go get him some clothes," Cho said, knowing Patrick would be more comfortable in his own things than the hospital garb.

"We'll go too," Van Pelt said. Rigsby nodded.

"Thank you," Lisbon whispered. The three turned and left the room. The doctor left awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself.

Patrick looked so alone. So lost. So scared.

He grunted, grimacing and pushing himself up, trying not to cry at the rush of agony that jumped through him as he rolled over. He wanted to be able to see if something was coming for him. He didn't want someone to hurt him and take him by surprise.

"Patrick don't-" Lisbon warned, but the caution was too late. She watched his heart rate and blood pressure spike for a brief moment. She touched his face, looking those eyes again.

"It's okay, Patrick," she promised. His eyes watered again, shaking hands drawn to his chest.

"Patrick," she breathed, her eyes pained as she pulled him to her. He cried against her, wondering why the monitor didn't register that his heart was torn in pieces. His mind was mangled and haunted, his very soul was bleeding.

Red John had got him, again. He sobbed into Lisbon's chest, breath ragged, tears burning, wounds screaming. "Shh…it's okay, Patrick. Sleep, just sl-"

"Nohoh!" He yelped, shaking his head. Please don't' make me sleep, Lisbon. D-don't make me. Th-the nightmares I h-have are unbearable already. P-please…"

"Okay, okay, you don't have to sleep. It's okay. It's okay," she soothed, rubbing the back of his head, rocking him gently.

"M-make it stop," he whispered, begging no one. "Please make it g-go away."

"It'lll go away, Patrick. It'll be alright. Shh…"

"_You know what you are, Patrick?"_ _He had said so calmly he might have been tossing the whip at flies. _

_He whimpered, not wanting to look at that masked face again. The bullwhip tore his skin again. "You're an egg." Again. "Seems so hard and strong on the outside." Again. "But it just takes a little push." Again. "'Til all that mess comes out. 'Til it's broken beyond repair."_

"_No more…" A weak, hoarse whimper. "I c-can't- GAAAHN!"_

_Another stroke. "No, no, no, no…"_

_His mouth was next to his ear again. "Looks like I'm the push."_

He hid his face away, away from everything. He couldn't help it. He couldn't stop crying.

"I miss them," he sobbed. "I miss them so much…"

"I know," Lisbon said, kissing his temple again. "I know you do. It's alright. Shh…"

Patrick didn't sleep all night. He couldn't. Not when those memories kept him awake. Not when that voice rang out in his ears along with that laugh.

He trembled, curling against himself as tight as he could.

Lisbon held him as he cried, knowing that he wouldn't be able to heal for a very long time. But right now she would hug him and soothe him and rock him, marveling at how small he felt. Like a child almost.

"Shh…it'll be okay soon. I promise."

"Make it stop…"

Tbc…

-More TLC soon!-


	3. Chapter 3

**Bloody Hell **

**3**

Patrick was glad he wasn't alone. He hated being alone. Especially now, when he couldn't get the voices or the memories to stop plaguing him. Pain wracked his body hard, despite the painkillers the doctors had given him. He played the poem Red John had recited over and over again, trying to decipher it and ignore his horrible fear, the merciless humiliation he had suffered and the trauma of torture. The act was impossible.

Lisbon held him close, caressing his forehead, her hand icy against the fevered skin. But he needed the comfort. He needed to know that someone was there. For once, he didn't have to go through something alone. In his normal state of mind he would have. He would have told her to leave and gotten angry if she refused. He would've rather cried alone.

This was a completely different circumstance. Right now he needed her desperately. She was his best friend, and the closest thing to family he had left. He sobbed against her, shattered into thousands of pieces, just as Red John had intended. He didn't have the strength to mull over the case right now. Right now it was taking everything he had just to stay sane.

"Shh…Patrick, it's alright. He can't hurt you anymore, don't be scared." He'd been speaking without realizing it, whimpering in fear and pain.

"M-make it stop, L-Lisbon," he begged, the thoughts and voices and screams and laughter in his head swirling and crashing and tangling into a chaotic mess, making him hold his ears and sob. "Make it s-stop, please!"

"Shh…hush, hush, it's alright. Shh…"

"I tr-tried to tell her-her, Teresa. I t-tried…" He sobbed, burying his face in her chest.

"Kristina?" Lisbon whispered. He nodded. "Patrick that's not your fault. You had no idea she would do something like that."

"She wa-was stupid. L-like me. An-an' now…" he sobbed hard into her chest. "She's de-dead. She's dead…"

"Shh, no, Patrick, no she's not." She didn't believe her own words. "She'll be alright, I promise. I promise, it's okay. Shh…" He was shivering, hard. She pulled the blankets tighter around him, running her fingers through his thick curls.

He shook his head, hiding his face away, his bleeding heart throbbing violently against his ribs. "I d-d-d-don't know w-what to do, Li-Lisbon. He-help m-m-me."

Lisbon tried to think past his cries that were echoing off of the apartment walls. She held his face between her hands, his agonized eyes looking back at her. She needed to get his mind away from this. It was killing him.

"Patrick," she said, saying the first thing that popped into her head. "Patrick, what's one thing about me that you don't like?" He frowned for a moment, most likely wondering where the hell that question came from. To be honest, she didn't know either.

"Um," he thought, sobs still shaking his voice. "Y-you d-don't play a-along very we-well." She smiled a little.

"Okay, what about Grace?" She prompted, trying to coax him away from his tears.

"Sh-she's too serious about ev-everything," he choked, his cries calming slowly.

"And Rigsby?" Lisbon was talking as calmly as she could, as if this were a normal conversation. But this was as far from normal as you could get. She was in Patrick's apartment, holding him on his bed, his body beaten and bandaged, mind and heart traumatized. No, definitely not normal.

"He l-lies about his f-feelings and tries to a-act like he d-doesn't care. It's an-annoying," he breathed.

"And Cho, what don't you like about Cho?" She asked, knowing she had to keep him talking.

Patrick chuckled, smiling, truly smiling, for the first time in a long time. "Ch-Cho? There's n-nothing wrong wi-with Cho. He's Cho."

Lisbon smiled and laughed with him.

A few hours later, he fell asleep. And Lisbon dared to doze herself, but horrible screams woke her abruptly.

"_NO! NO PLEASE, NO MORE! OH GOD…OH GOD NOT THAT! NOT THAT, I'M BEGGING YOU!_"

"Patrick! Patrick, it's alright!" Lisbon held his shoulders, holding him down so he wouldn't hurt himself. This only seemed to make matters worse.

"_NO! NO I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! PLEASE, DON'T DO THIS, PLEEEAAASSEEE!_" He sobbed violently, sending himself into a coughing fit.

"Patrick, PATRICK! Wake up! WAKE UP, it's alright!" Lisbon exclaimed. His eyes flew open and he sat up with a start. He looked around in the darkness, gaining his bearings, his eyes taking a moment before they met hers.

"T-Teresa?" He breathed. She nodded, releasing her grip on his arms and touching his cheek.

"I'm here, I'm here, it's alright," she assured.

"He, he was h-here. He…and…he used…I…" He stammered, breath shaking, tears still winning the fight.

"It's gonna be alright, Patrick. He can't hurt you anymore, you're safe."

"No," he shook his head, "no I'm not. He can h-hurt me whenever he wants. He al-already tortures m-me every day." He bowed his head, crying softly, holding his chest as if to keep the pieces inside. Lisbon looked at him for a moment, her chest hurting at the sight of the tortured soul before her. Lost, broken, hopeless.

She wrapped her arms around him, unable to take it any longer. He cried into her stomach, shoulders shaking. "It's alright, Patrick. It's going to be okay. I won't let him hurt you again. I promise."

"Th-thank you," he choked. "Th-thank you so m-much."

"For what?" Lisbon frowned.

"For b-being there f-for me. For al-always being there for me." She would be there for him. She would help him through this horrendous nightmare better than anyone could.

"Thank you for letting me," she smiled, stroking his hair.

He would be alright. He'd be okay, it was only a matter of time before he was back to his snarky, mischievous self again, getting into trouble and ignoring the pain he constantly carried.

But right now Lisbon would hold him and promise him that everything was going to be alright, even when she wasn't sure if the statement were true or not.

And Patrick would let her soothe him, let her lie to him about Red John because it made him feel better, let her see past the armor he had because he needed her. He needed her more than anything, not just right now but always. She was his best friend. She would keep him sane, keep him grounded and be there for him. That was all he could ask for.

**Fin**

-thank you for reading! Please review!-


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